


War Veteran

by naboru



Series: War Veteran [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, Mentions of genocide, Slight Violence, War Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6004210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brawl isn’t used to be in charge.</p><p><b>Note:</b> Set when Brawl was still in the military, before he worked for Onslaught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Veteran

**Author's Note:**

> **Continuity:** Transformers G1, Dysfunction AU, pre-war  
>  **Characters:** Brawl, OCs  
>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, nothing is mine.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty

Brawl sat on a boulder and sipped his energon in peace. Well, in as much peace as was possible in this wasteland of bomb craters and scorched soil.

But it was quiet for now, had been for a while - a nice change to the ever-present boom of explosions.

He sighed and took another sip. Deep down he knew the silence would end with an even stronger attack before long. It was the literal calm before the storm, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He didn’t care much about this whole war.

If Cybertron didn't have an alliance contract with the native organic race, they wouldn’t be here in the first place.

“Brawl!” someone yelled in a panicked voice, and the tank sighed again. He didn’t bother turning, but he couldn’t stop himself from tensing and his barrel twitching.

“Brawl! We have an emergency!”

He still didn’t move.

“Brawl!”

Brawl vented deeply. The never-ending fall of ash tickled his filters. “What is it now?” He didn’t want to deal with it.

But he was the oldest of the battalion, having served almost 50 vorns by now. Everyone looked up to him for having survived this long. That, and because they didn’t have any people left in command ranks.

Their second in command had defected a while back, and their commander had been fried along with half the battalion from space by a satellite.

Brawl sighed once more.

The guy had been pretty young. But Brawl thought it was a lack of common sense rather than limited age that had got them killed.

They were fighting organics, and organics fought differently than robotic races. Especially if they were only knee high. Their style was based on guerilla tactics. They set traps or deceived their enemies.

Why their commander had thought they’d really fight in the open, Brawl didn’t know.

They'd been lured to the killing field, and Brawl had expected either a mine field or an attack with missiles. The laser from space had been a surprise.

Brawl himself had stayed as far away from the field as possible, but the heat wave had still knocked him over. At least he’d survived.

Now they were waiting for extraction, because their position was lost, and everyone thought Brawl was in charge.

Brawl hated it.

“Tankor is going nuts in the barracks.” The tank that spoke to him didn’t have a battlemask. Brawl could see the horror in his expression.

“Which Tankor?” he asked. They’d had eight in their battalion. After the attack only three were left. Brawl still didn’t know why so many new builds thought Tankor was a good name. He had kept his first name suggestion. 

Brawl. It felt right, and it was easy to remember. He’d always been Brawl. And most of the times the only one.

“The Red Tankor,” the mech in front of him explained. “He’s yelling at everyone and threatening whoever comes close and… and we don’t know what to do.”

Tankor… maybe that was the new Rampant. Brawl remembered the time when every tank thought it was cool to name or rename themselves to Rampant.

“I’ll have a look,” Brawl muttered, and took out one of his guns, the smallest one. The mech stepped aside, shock mingling with the horror on his face at the sight of the weapon, but Brawl didn’t see a reason to explain.

Only two more cycles, then their ride would be here.

The barracks were a few containers screwed together and bolted to the ground. The windows were long broken, and the pale grey walls black and brown from mud and gunfire.

“Brawl, I’m so glad you’re here,” a tank said, a femme that was even bulkier and taller than Brawl. He’d seen her crush a rock with her fist, but it was her first deployment and she wasn't exactly secure. “We don’t know what to do any more. He’s going rampant.”

Brawl raised an optical ridge at that, but merely shrugged. With a tired huff, he entered the barracks where someone had built a fort of furniture. Behind it was Rampant – no, Red Tankor – waving his gun in the air.

He yelled something unintelligible and Brawl sighed once again, like so many times since the satellite attack.

“Hey, you!” he yelled, his engine revved in a threat. “Listen.”

“No!” Tankor yelled – finally something Brawl understood. But the mech trailed off with a series of 'no's until the words became a cacophony that ended in a crazed cry.

Great, the guy had war-sickness. It was a common thing to happen to people who weren’t used to battles. The processor wasn’t able to process all the images and sensations, even emotions, that were caused by being in the middle of war. The result was over-clocking and hallucinations.

A friend of Brawl had once described it as being overdosed by sensor-net stims, but Brawl didn’t know. He’d never done drugs, and had never suffered from war-sickness.

“ _Listen!_ Brawl tried again, but he only got shot at. He could dodge the bullet in time, but the little patience he’d had ran out. With a growl from his engine and vocaliser, he aimed and fired. 

Red Tankor went down with a gargling sound, and stayed down.

“What did you do?!” the mech that had interrupted Brawl’s energon break stormed past him towards the one on the ground.

“I shot him.” Brawl shrugged. “Don’t worry, he’s not dead,” he added when the other leant over Tankor. The shoulder was scorched, and there was energon on the floor, but it didn’t look too bad.

“He’ll be back on his feet in a bit.” With war-sickness, it was either 'listen or be shot'.

The pain and initiation of self-repair would have overloaded the already over-clocked processor and sent Red Tankor straight into stasis.

“Why… what…” the mech stammered, but Brawl left the container, only to be greeted by the bulky femme. 

“Why did he go crazy?” she asked. 

“War-sickness,” Brawl muttered. They should already know about it. It was in the pre-installed information they had from the assembly line. 

Walking back to his boulder, Brawl took his energon cube that he’d left there. He’d just sat down again when someone else yelled his name.

Brawl sighed.

Extraction in two days… he would survive till then.


End file.
